#24
Oh truth! Oh truth!
You have to be real;
If there's no truth,
how can I know,
right from wrong?
If this pen is in my hand?
Without truth,
what can I know?
My sweet child,
my innocent child,
what is this truth you seek?
Can you point to it?
Can you sense it?
Don't be obtuse,
I can't point to the truth
but that doesn't make it
any less true
that this pen is in my hand,
this blanket is grey
And which part
of the pen,
which strands of fabric,
hold that truth?
You infernal skeptic!
You dense man,
it just means
we both see it,
we both feel it,
over and over
It's just a word
that describes
the reliability
of experience